Tuesday, July 7, 2020

Existential Oils


we must retreat where others advance such actionaries or lost by a given response. to judge his words or his body where language comes by suspicion; as present weakness or too much strength while it takes liberties: those mount bugs those ant hills while spirits become an army; but so charming or so mirroring while predicament comes by indecision: those rosy wires or a sentence askew or dear disrespect; but a hunch his gut those achy islands while neat to admire a curse; those colors so lurid or livid where freedom isn’t an option. but what might follow, in denims so free, as reviewed by souls; an angel to Love or a vandal to clients or so much pain it can’t be fathomed. such social aglets such longer shoe strings or too close to avoid discussion: a broken wing a peal on high while never becoming his bulwark; for it tears it disgusts where one of this caliber doesn’t quite need me: such fumes such wretchedness, where it’s not object but it would be pleasant if it were reaching.     upon a freesia born into feathers a coop a cage a crime. such autonomy maybe too much while a woman must feel anxious—even a man his hairs while a root undresses or feigns independence: those waterfalling eyes, those sweet apricots, while a man bakes his pride.     (I see a daughter a woman or something in development. I take issue, for life is gray, I have a need to guide. but engines are for mutuality, where mechanics come by reputation, plus, association must be pleasant.     I disappeared. nothing was there. no one was a bulwark.     pantomime distressors. angry, perfect souls. while a man was unknitting his goals.     (pointing. or laughing. or with others.)
     as never an inclination towards love. it had no meaning. where people will give one some version of some insult, In which they call love!     but more sunshine where seeds might become incredible while I’d assert this young lady is set for a wonderful voyage.) so fatidic so spatial where souls are running through jungles: those interior kingdoms those vast oceans while cleaving to tectonic plates. such ambiguities such deep desperation where humans yearn more than they live!            

I’d Save The Reader Years

    The beat becomes sickness. A long crucible—a drilling ecstasy. I was losing focus, feeling forbidden, if to self, if to mirrors. So curs...